Since March this year, I’ve been living for September. That’s when the schools open again. It’s when my kid can be taught by a professional who’s not wrestling with worksheets while batting back conference calls and making excuses for missed deadlines. She’ll be around people her own age, who challenge her in ways that have nothing to do with how much she eats, when she sleeps or how much Vampirina she’s watched that day. September is when I can breathe again.
This is not a popular opinion on my social media. Once the US president made his proclamation about schools reopening, my feed became filled with angry epithets. “Think of the children.” “Think of the teachers.”
I promise you, I am.
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